Blood of Zeus (Blood of Zeus #1) - Meredith Wild Page 0,64

the experience of being sprawled across his desk, writhing in pleasure beneath his fingers and velvet tongue. And if I get the sense he’s reliving any of it too, I’m a goner.

“I…I can’t today. I’m sorry.” Weirdly, the last two words feel like confession for other things—for which I’m grateful despite the deepening grooves of his frown.

“Why?”

“I have plans.” It’s the truth, but still not one he’ll want to hear about. After some back and forth, I managed to change my dinner plans with Arden to a meeting at his office instead. It might not be a candlelit rendezvous anymore, but the frosty way Maximus interacted with him at the fundraiser isn’t making me eager to spill those details.

“When can I see you? You can come to my place this weekend if you want. Or I can come to you.”

The idea of seeing him again off campus is tempting. It’s what normal people do when they decide to be in a relationship. But Maximus Kane and me? We’re far from normal. And I don’t trust myself in a closed room with him right now.

He seems to sense my hesitation.

“How about we meet up at Recto Verso tomorrow. Just coffee. Okay?”

More students pour in. Their professor will be here next. We’re already cutting it too close lately. People will be talking about us soon if they aren’t already. We can’t keep meeting this way. So I agree with a nod.

“Tomorrow. Coffee sounds perfect.”

Arden’s office is tucked into a small but posh building at the edge of the Golden Triangle, close enough to that prestigious wedge of Beverly Hills to be relevant but not ancient. The building has an open-air atrium in the middle that looks like a set from Casablanca, with Moroccan lamps, lush landscaping, and a baby grand piano in a gazebo. I make my way into the waiting elevator, which takes me up to the third floor.

Arden’s receptionist shows me into his corner office with picture windows flanked by the tops of palm trees.

He looks up from the huge cluttered desk, his smile gleaming bright white like his perfectly tailored Oxford shirt. “Kara.”

The door whispers closed as he strides toward me. I think he’ll reach for me, but his hands stay tucked into his slacks. His stare is more daring, roving over me boldly.

“How do you manage to look so perfectly edible with such little effort?”

Any reply I could possibly come up with lodges in my throat. I’m not typically self-conscious about my outfits, but suddenly I’m rethinking my jeans, boots, slouchy sweater combination. Of course I made every selection with Maximus in mind, not knowing how infuriating he was going to be all through class. I definitely wasn’t thinking about Arden’s approval, but I silently remind myself to test this new theory and dress as terribly as possible for him going forward.

“Sorry. You probably think I’m forward. I’m used to appreciating beautiful things all day long. It’s hard to switch off. I hope you don’t mind.”

I manage a smile. “I’m used to being treated like a commodity. I’m a Valari, after all.”

He seems to measure me with his dark stare for a long moment, breaking it with an amused grunt.

“Very well.” He gestures toward his desk. “Your timing is flawless. I was just looking through some pieces for Veronica. Perhaps you’d like to chime in.”

Several stacks of glossy listing photos cover the surface. He picks up a loose one. “This is a strong piece. It’s listed with Christie’s, but I happen to know the people who oversee this collection. I think we could probably coax some more out of them to round out ours if you like it.”

I take the photo depicting a bronze bull-headed figure that can’t be more than four inches tall. “It’s a Minotaur.”

“In bronze. Circa 500 B.C.”

“It’s almost two hundred thousand dollars,” I counter.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Does Veronica’s budget concern you?”

I let the photo float down to the desk. “Not in the least.”

He chuckles once more, though I’m still boggled about his intent. A strange coil in my stomach sends me even weirder vibes, like he’s laughing at something else. Like a grown-up getting the mature innuendo of a line in a kid’s film.

“That makes two of us, then,” he ensures. “Of course, she’s given me some basic parameters. But let’s not worry about the figures right now. Let’s focus on the bigger picture, shall we?”

“Which is?”

“Themes.” He relaxes into the high-back leather seat across from his desk, gesturing for me to take